


Love (Is All You Need)

by toynbeees



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: First Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Other, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Snippets, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22435936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toynbeees/pseuds/toynbeees
Summary: When you moved into your Grandma's old cabin, you didn’t want anything other than the summer sun, relaxation, and a chance to find a place in your new home.You didn’t expect the Camp Crystal Lake monster to be real. You certainly didn’t expect him to be so… nice. And you absolutely did not expect to fall in love with him.Yet here you are.
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Jason here is non-specified, because I know everyone has their own favourite version. However, I personally visualise a combination of 2 and remake! 
> 
> Just a short intro chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

The hefty box strained your arms as you heaved it from the back of the van. There were a dozen other boxes just like it, neatly taped closed, their designation and purpose scrawled in black sharpie. 

You had to admit, hiring movers might have been the sensible option. Yet even the most eager of companies had turned you down the moment you told them your new address. So, with no family willing to travel the four hour drive to your new home, and no moving companies willing to take on the job, you had made the executive decision to do it yourself.

Besides, the place was fully furnished thanks to your late Grandmother, so all you needed were personal items. No big deal, right?

At least you had thought so, until you stared into the back of your truck with distaste, the weight of box number one making your arms feel like jelly. You had half a mind to call every single one of those moving companies and complain.

Yet you didn't; because a small part of you knew _why_ they refused. Camp Crystal Lake and it's infamous - and definitely long deceased - killer.

The wind rustled your hair, fluttered through the grass. Deep in the woods, trees groaned. You shivered, casting a lingering glance toward the treeline, and turned away. 

You had to wrestle with the old door, the rusted lock having remained unused for over ten years. Balancing the box on one hip, wiggling the keys as you muttered curses, you forgot all about Crystal Lake and it's rumours. There was no time to dwell on old gossip when there were fifteen boxes to haul inside - not to mention the incredible amount of _cleaning_ was needed to make this place habitable. 

The first box was abandoned by the doorway, shoved aside so you - hopefully - wouldn't trip. You ambled back outside, wincing under the relentless heat of the afternoon. Already your t-shirt was clinging to your arms, sweat pooling in the creases of your palms. You wiped said hands on your jeans, reaching in for the next box - 

As you did so, head tilted to avoid smacking it off the myriad of boxes, you _swore_ something flashed past your vision. Something distant, little more than a silhouette, danced in the corner of your eyes. You froze, heart skipping as a rush of panic shot through you. 

_Crystal Lake is cursed,_ the kindly old corner shop lady had told you only an hour before. _A kid drowned there decades ago. He died, but his spirit still lingers. All grown up and looking for blood._

But that was stupid. Ghosts didn't exist - and drowned kids didn't go killing counsellors and tourists alike.

No, it was much more likely that there was a real person living in the woods or the abandoned camp, killing trespassers that wandered onto their grounds. At least, that's what the old man at the gas station had claimed.

For the second time since arriving, you shuddered despite sun bearing down on you. Suddenly your skin felt clammy, your throat dry. When your eyes turned toward the treeline, there was nothing.

Paranoia, you surmised. Perhaps moving somewhere so secluded had been a bad idea, just like your parents had told you. Yet Grandma had managed on her own just fine, right up until the end. If an elderly woman without a car managed, so could _you._

Yet as you hoisted the next box back indoors, you couldn't help but let your eyes linger on the woods. Rumours had to come from _somewhere_ after all, and even the most absurd held some kind of truth.

Dumping the second box beside the first, you took a moment to rest. Killer ghosts or no, you had a car's worth of _stuff_ to haul inside - and after two boxes your arms were already burning. You had bottled water somewhere, right? Maybe a rest would do you good, at least until you weren't so damn _tired_ from the long drive. Stepping back onto the porch, you went in search of your water - 

Wait, had a box moved? Your heart skipped as you shuffled over to the car. The two boxes at the front, neatly labelled _kitchen_ and _books_ respectively, had definitely been moved. Worse still, the little box cutter you had tucked between them was _gone._ Stomach lurching, you reached out with sweaty hands to move the boxes aside, fearing the worst - 

Yes, the box cutter had _vanished._ So had the hunting knife in its leather sheath; a big, menacing thing your dad had made you promise to take. _Just in case,_ he had said.

Maybe it had rolled away during the drive. Hidden itself behind a different box or slipped out of the boot and into the back seat. Hands scrabbled to push heavy boxes aside, wincing at the weight of them. But neither the box cutter or knife made an appearance.

Someone was here with you. So close they could probably _see you,_ watching from behind the house or the shade of the treeline. They had _your_ knife - your only weapon in this isolated place. What did they want with it? Were they going to hurt you?

Fuck, you should have listened to the lady in the shop. _And_ the mechanic. They had warned you something was wrong.

The breeze rustled by, whipping up the overgrown grass at your feet and ruffling your hoodie. The sudden gust blew the hood up and you shrieked, batting it away as hair flew in your face. When you managed to swipe it away with a shaky hand, you came face to face with a figure.

Well, not quite. They stood by the treeline, a dark silhouette against the woods. But it was still close enough to make you yelp, stumbling back until your foot hit the bottom of the porch steps. Heart thundering in your chest you skittered up the steps, hands fumbling for your keys. 

The person never moved. Honestly you weren't even sure if they were looking at you, their face obscured by... _something._ A mask? You paused, breath flying your lips in raspy huffs, and stared.

They were tall, even from this distance. Tall and broad, with wide shoulders and long, beefy arms hidden beneath some kind of heavy jacket. They stood motionless. Just watching you from a distance.

You should have bailed immediately. Climbed into your car and driven off - forget the cabin, forget the boxes already inside. Yet you stood transfixed, eyes locked on the unknown figure.

The wind blew past again and your hood slapped against the back of your head. Behind you the front door slammed closed, ancient hinges no match for such a force. You squeaked, head whipping around as you all but flung yourself down the porch steps. _Just the wind,_ you reminded yourself, _you've got bigger issues._

When you turned back to the woods, the figure was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When you had stayed in your Grandma's cabin as a kid, you always thought it was huge. Practically a _mansion_ compared to your parents' cramped flat in the city. Now, as you attempted to find a space for your comic collection, you realised it was barely big enough for you. There were still boxes piled high in the corner of the room too - who knew where you were going to find room for the books and the clothes and everything else.

Well, two days of unpacking had hardly gotten you anywhere, but _screw it._ You deserved a break. And that break came in the form of sunbathing by the lake. So, with a beach towel in one hand and your phone in the other, you set off for the lake.

You hardly made it ten steps from the cabin before freezing. You hadn't left since... since that _figure_ had spooked you so thoroughly you had genuinely considered boarding up the windows. Yet there had been no sign of them - or anyone else - since. Maybe you had imagined it all, paranoia driven by lack of sleep and little old ladies with too much gossip. 

When your eyes drifted across the expanse of space, they turned up nothing. No giant figure by the treeline, no ghost lurking by the lake. The remains of Camp Crystal Lake shimmered in the background, distorted by the heat, but nothing so much as moved in the breeze.

So, with a deep breath and a quiet laugh at your own stupidity, you steeled yourself. When no axe wielding murderer - or any other kind of murderer, for that matter - threw himself at you, you allowed yourself to relax. A quiet day outside was _exactly_ what you needed, and it seemed nothing stood in your way.

The lake was barely five minutes from your cabin, easily seen from the porch. It glittered as you approached, the water still and pristine. No wonder people had chosen to have a kid's camp here - even now, almost two decades later, it was beautiful. Green grass stretched in every direction, and the sky was so clear you could see all the way across the lake to the dense woodland beyond.

The water was cool as you bent to skim a hand across the unbroken surface. You had always been a strong swimmer, and the temptation to delve underwater tugged at the back of your mind. Maybe later, you decided, settling for spreading out your beach towel. Kicking off your shoes, you let your body collapse onto the ground, head tilted toward the sky.

 _Perfect._ Your own private sunbathing spot. It was no beach, but with the sun beating down and the breeze on your skin, it was just as good. Better, even.

You lay like that for a while, eyes closed as you soaked up the sun. It was lovely at first, listening to the chirping of birds overhead and enjoying the warmth of the day. But as the seconds ticked on an unsettling sense of being watched caused your stomach to squirm. Your skin prickled despite the heat, ignoring your attempts to put it from your mind.

Your eyes snapped open as you threw yourself upright, legs trapped beneath you as you spun to face the treeline. _It's nothing,_ you insisted to yourself, _you're just not used to being alone._

Yet when your eyes fell onto a tall, dark figure standing in the shade of an enormous oak, you knew you were wrong. He was _real,_ that mysterious figure - and he was _back._

"What do you want?" you called. _Bad move._ Heart skipping you scrambled to your feet, slipping as the towel bunched around your ankles. Still, words flew from your lips without consent. "Are you stalking me? Are you the one that stole my knives?"

No answer. He was several meters away, too far to see the details of his body - but that grimy white mask seemed to leer at you. Slowly, his head tilted. So he _had_ heard you.

"Are you that ghost the old lady told me about?" you continued. Your palms were sweating, and you wiped them on your shorts. Within seconds, they were damp again. 

Head tilting to the other side, he simply watched in silence. 

You should leave. Who knew what this crazy person wanted, and who knew what he planned to do. Your mind yelled at you to _move -_ but curiosity had always been your downfall. Feet frozen in place, you only stared. Despite the pounding of your heart and the sweat clinging to your hands, you _beckon him forward._

He didn't move. Now that you think of it, you never saw him move last time either. He was just _there -_ and then not. 

"Do you live nearby?" you questioned. The absurdity of your question didn't go unnoticed, and you would have laughed at yourself had you not felt so _sick._ The only cabins were your own, and the ones at the abandoned camp. No one had been near Camp Crystal Lake in _years._

Yet he nodded. Just a single incline of his head, mask glinting in the sunlight. 

"A-are you mad that I'm imposing on your property?"

A tilt of his head, a shrug. Did that mean he didn't care, or that he didn't care to _tell?_

"Can you talk?"

Another heave of massive shoulders. Then a shake of his head. 

He still hadn't moved an inch, half shaded by the trees. Suddenly, you had the crazy idea to go up to him, to stride across there, just so you didn't have to call across the expanse of space between you. "I'm going to come over," you warned - though why _you_ needed to warn _him,_ you didn't understand. 

No reply, so you took that as an okay.

One foot forward. The dry grass crackled beneath your shoes. Then another step. And another. And another. You closed the distance between you bit by bit, never once allowing yourself to look away. 

The entire time he stood perfectly still, watching you through the holes in the hockey mask. You couldn't decide if his lack of reaction was better, or _worse._

By the time you stopped, just two meters away, your heart was beating so ferociously you _swore_ he must had heard it too. You looked up, a gasp of surprise leaving your lips as you realised just how _huge_ he really was. Almost seven feet, you guessed, and broader than two of you. 

Now, stood across from him and staring up at the motionless behemoth, some of your fear subsided. There was still a gnawing voice in the back of your mind, one that told you how _stupid_ it was to approach - but so far he had done nothing but watch. Creepy, sure - but not dangerous.

"Hey," you muttered, eyes squinting at the sun, "I guess I'm your new neighbour, then. What's your name?"

That familiar head tilt, one that seemed to ask, _why do you want to know?_ His huge form shifted from foot to foot, head slightly downcast - but not to look at you. In fact, those dark eyes didn't meet your gaze at all. With a little jolt you realised that although one eye was a deep, rich blue, the other was pale white.

Biting down on your lip, you finally tore your gaze away. "At least I know you're _real_ now," you said with a huff, "the other day, I was sure I imagined you."

This seemed to amuse him, his shoulders jerking in a silent laugh. The eyes crinkled beneath the mask, as if he was fighting back a smile. 

"You're weird," you answer, "but at least now I know you don't want to murder me." A pause, in which your eyes flickered back to his. With a nervous smile plastered across your lips you added, "right?"

Fingers tapped against his arm, as if he _genuinely_ had to consider it. The silence stretched on, and you felt a pit open wide in your stomach. Finally he shook his head, gaze dipping down as if in embarrassment.

Relief flooded through you. The rumours from the townspeople still lurked in the back of your mind like a warning - or a _threat -_ but a smile managed to work its way onto your features. "Good. Then if you don't mind, can I have my hunting knife back?"

With a vehement shake of his head the man jerked back, eyes snapping wide. A hand darted to something deep within the pocket of his overalls - _your knife,_ no doubt.

Hands raised you stumbled back, a gasp flying from your lips. Your heart skipped, stomach flipping - but he didn't do a thing. Willing your heart rate to calm down, you took a steadying breath. It didn't work. Sighing, you said, "I'm going to guess you don't see other people much, right? This is probably weird for you."

A nod, his body relaxing. He regarded you like a trapped animal, like something ready to flee at any moment - but shouldn't _you_ be the one feeling cornered?

"I suppose I'm just paranoid," you murmured, "all those rumours about the Camp being cursed?" You were on the outskirts of the camp grounds, nearer the road leading into town. Yet still you shivered. "You know, about a rabid killer or a ghost or whatever."

His expression was impossible to gauge. Only his eyes were visible - one gorgeous blue and the other milky white. Cataracts? You couldn't tell that either. 

"Well," you huffed, eyes darting away, "if you _are_ the infamous killer, I guess I'm fucked." A nervous bubble of laughter rose in your throat, and you fought to swallow it down. How this quiet, nervous man could be a killer was beyond you - yet you couldn't shake the feeling that something was _wrong._

All he managed was a quick duck of his head, wide shoulders slumping. He still hadn't said a word - _couldn't,_ if he had been honest earlier - but he gave the impression of wanting to, right then. 

Shifting, you cast a glance back toward the towel you had laid out before the lake. "Do you want to sit with me?" you questioned. Uneasiness still swam in your stomach, hands shaking as you pointed toward your spot.

You expected a no, of course. He remained a solid, motionless presence, staring unblinkingly beneath the mask.

"Okay... that's a no, I guess?" You shifted from foot to foot, huffing out a small breath. Why you were so disappointed you couldn't tell - everything about this was _weird,_ and if you were sensible you would have run for the hills. Yet here you were, too damn curious and stubborn for your own good. Tapping your nails against your arm you said, "I'll just... go, then? There's stuff I need to get on with.

Not entirely untrue, given you had a house to unpack - but in reality his unblinking gaze felt too hot against your skin. It was _creepy,_ even if he did seem oddly sweet.

Or perhaps just odd in general.

When he didn't reply, you stepped back. His head tilted, regarding you as you continued to back away. Like a predator. Did that make _you_ his prey?

"I'll uh, see you around?" you questioned.

A shrug. A nod. That was all the response you got.

Finally back under direct sunlight, you shivered at the sudden burst of heat. Sunlight hit your eyes and you blinked, a wince gracing your features. Then, with one last lingering look toward the mysterious man, you all but _bolted_ back to your spot.

By the time you had gathered up your things, he had vanished once more. There wasn't even a trace of the man's existence.

As much as you wanted to believe he was just an odd eccentric, you couldn't shake the feeling there was something more to him. A _lot more._


	3. Chapter 3

A camera flash lit up your vision, momentarily blinding you as you tried not to wince. _This is silly,_ you thought, _but it's camp tradition. Besides, it'll be fun to look back on._

The man behind the standing camera was a sour faced, grumpy old geezer that looked like he'd never smiled in his life. With a wave of his hand he dismissed you, then called over the next kid. 

The kid in question - a tall, older boy you had never spoken to - gave you a long suffering look as you two locked eyes. He was too old for camp, really, past the age where spending summer by the lake was fun. 

"Don't be so glum," you laughed, eyes sparkling, "it's not _that_ bad." 

"Hurry it up," the camera man snapped - and with a roll of your eyes, you part ways with the boy.

You could have gone back to the cabins then, to wait for dinner. Yet you wanted to hang around for the group photo at the end. If you were already here, why not go the whole way? Now, if only you could find your grandma...

There she was - a short, stocky woman with a bright smile and kind eyes. She stood next to a woman you knew, but only vaguely. One of the cafeteria cooks? With a grin more suited to a five your old than someone almost ten, you bounded over to them. "Grandma," you called, smile widening as she turned to face you, "can I have a toffee?"

"Have you had your photograph taken?"

"Uh huh!"

Her brows raised, she pretended to debate for a moment - until your pout brought a wrinkled smile to her face. "Just one," she allowed. As she reached into her blouse pocket to provide you the treat, she gestured to the new woman. "This is Pamela, her son goes to the camp too."

Your eyes brightened at that, toffee all but forgotten at the news. "Is he here right now? Do I know him?" Hands clasped you spin around, eyes searching - for who, you weren't sure. Someone that looked like Pamela, you supposed. She looked _awfully_ young to have a kid the same age as you, but you searched the faces for someone that looked like her-

Pamela's musical laugh snapped you from your search. You turned back to her, head tilted in question. That's when you realised there had been a fourth person here this entire time. A tall, thin body shifted behind Pamela, the ruffle of a dark sweatshirt all you could make out. 

"Hello?" you enquired, head tilted to try and see past Pamela's legs. Unfortunately she was wearing a long skirt, and the boy - who you assumed was her son - skittered around her when you attempted to catch a glimpse.

"Don't mind Jason," Pamela replied kindly, "he's shy. Why don't you say hi, Jason?"

You saw a pale, slender hand grip her skirt, and decided not to try and steal another peek. How could a boy be so _shy_ he didn't even want to show his face? You're heart hurt for him, ached for him even though you didn't know what was wrong. "It's okay," you assured with a little smile, more hesitant than before, "I should go back to the group anyway..."

"Jason could do with a friend," Pamela admitted with tilt of her head - almost as if she was talking to herself more than you, "and you seem like a lovely kid."

Beside you, Grandma nodded in appreciation. "This one's the best there is."

Your cheeks flared red, and suddenly _you_ were the one that wanted to hide. You weren't anything great - just a normal kid, really, and a boring one too - but the way Pamela smiled at you made your chest skip.

And... if Jason needed a friend, who were you to say no? You could have done with a few more yourself.

You still couldn't see him, not hidden behind his mother, head ducked low, but you spoke to him anyway. "I'd love to be your friend," you murmured, "if you want that too." It sounded cheesy and awful, and the urge to slap yourself rose - as did the dark flush of your already scarlet face. _Honestly,_ could you have sounded more stupid?

Yet to your surprise, the figure behind Pamela shifted. He tugged on Pamela's skirt, and when she turned she was careful not to let you or Grandma see Jason. They never spoke, not even a word - but whatever silent conversation transpired, it made Pamela smile.

When she stood, the boy was revealed. Your hand flew to your mouth as your wide-eyed gaze flickered across his features. There wasn't a single strand of hair on his misshapen head - no eyebrows either, or maybe they were just so blond you couldn't see. His eyes sat unevenly on his face, deep set and crooked. Those mismatched eyes darted to the ground, and when he blinked - blinked back _tears? -_ one eyelid remained awkwardly half-open.

A warm hand squeezed your shoulder, Grandma's voice whispered, "it's rude to stare."

"Oh!" You blinked, lips parting in surprise as guilt sprung in your chest. He looked so shy, so _nervous,_ like being there took every ounce of confidence he had. And here you were, making it worse for him! Your expression softened, lips parting in a smile. "Hi Jason. I'm [Y/N]. It's nice to meet you!"

His eyes peeked upward - and that was when you realised his eyes were a lovely, rich blue. Or at least _one_ of them was; the other was milky white. 

You kept your gaze fixed on him as you grinned. You didn't want to stare, especially with Grandma's eyes hot on your back, but you didn't want to make him feel like you were scared, either. Especially not when he was looking at you with such a sweet, crooked smile. Not when his dark eyes were so hopeful.

Then you reached out a hand, just like your dad had taught you, and offered it to the strange boy. 

Ever so slowly, his long fingers clasped around yours. You _beamed,_ heart fluttering, and he smiled shyly back.

"I knew you two would get along," Pamela expressed - and when you looked up, her grin matched yours.

You parted your lips to reply - though what you were actually going to say, wasn't clear. Yet you never had the chance - a boy shoved past you, broad shoulders knocking you into Grandma, and you let out a squeak of surprise. "Watch it!" you snapped; but he was already gone.

Across the grass, kids gathered. The camera man huffed, his angular face pinched into a glare as he ushered over twenty children into _some_ semblance of order. Group photo time.

You're stomach leapt as you spun back to Jason, the other kid forgotten. "I'm gonna go join," you told him. Nudging his arm you asked, "want to join?"

He didn't answer. Instead he simply shrank behind Pamela, face hidden behind her long skirt. From that angle, he almost looked normal.

"My Jason is camera shy," Pamela explained. Her brows furrowed as she glanced down, but her gaze remained soft. "People shy, too."

Ah. It clicked then, why he didn't want to join. Why you had never seen him around camp, even though he was the perfect age to join in. Kids were mean - you'd had first hand experience with bullies, and you were a normal, sociable person. What must it have been like, for someone like him?

But you were determined - too much so, your parents often said. You held out your hand, palm upturned. "You don't have to join," you said quietly, "but wouldn't it be nice to have a photo of us? So we can always remember how we met!"

His eyes flickered to Pamela. Was he asking permission? At her little nod of reassurance he straightened, a little spark of confidence running through him. Then, with a nervous little smile that lit up his odd features, he took your hand in his.

"Have fun," Grandma urged, nudging the two of you forward.

A breeze ruffled through the grass, and you let it carry you forward. 

Jason glanced behind as you walked - his shoulders slumped, that momentary confidence vanishing the further he strayed from his mother. His hand gripped yours in a death grip, head dropped as he pressed close to your side.

"It'll be fine," you assured, "some of the boys are mean, but that's just how older boys _are._ If they say anything," you tell him with a decisive nod, "I'll kick their butt for you."

It startled a laugh from his lips - a dry, croaky sound he didn't seem to get much use from. He looked up at you, free hand flying to scratch at the back of his neck. But he looked happy, and that was enough for you.

Hand in hand, you strolled over to where the others congregated. The chatter grew louder as you approached, and kids bustled to arrange themselves for the photo. Tallest at the back, of course - so most of the older children, the ones that were nearly teens, stood proudly behind the younger ones.

No one said a thing as you towed Jason along, although one of the older boys - the one you had spoken to earlier - gave you a raised brow as you passed. 

Jason sank closer into your side, eyes fixed on the muddy earth at your feet.

"I've got you," you reassured. And maybe you imagined it, but you liked to think he relaxed. Just a bit.

"You're late," the camera man interrupted. He really _did_ look exhausted. Fed up. He probably didn't even _like_ children. You stuck your tongue out as you walked past, but he only rolled his eyes.

The two of you hung back as the last of the kids arranged themselves. The smallest at the front, barely six or seven, didn't even reach your shoulders. You slipped seamlessly behind a round, ginger boy and his twin brother. Hand still enclosed around Jason's you tugged him into frame too.

The twins glanced up as Jason joined - you felt him tense beside you, and your heart hurt for him. How difficult was this, something that most kids did all the time?

"Quit staring," the camera man huffed - and the ginger twins snapped to attention with a squeak. "I ain't got all day for this," he continued, "so everyone be ready. Three, two, one..."

At the last moment you roped an arm around Jason's shoulders, pulled him close, and grinned. Moments later the camera light flashed, bringing a grimace to your lips, and you fought back a laugh.

Well, as long as the camera managed to catch your smile. Jason's, too, because you had the feeling capturing his smile was a rare thing indeed.

* * *

A week after camp ended, you received your photos. Grandma handed you a little envelope while your dad hovered over you. Eager to see evidence of your time at camp, no doubt. Excited to see the friends you had made.

The envelope opened effortlessly in your small hands, and two photos slid out. The first was reminiscent of a yearbook photo - you, smiling at the camera with your hands clasped in front. But you didn't care about that one. Behind it was what you really wanted.

Twenty-odd kids lined up in neat rows. Some smiled, some scowled, but each of them stood perfectly still.

Except you. You grinned like it was Christmas. Short arms wrapped around an odd looking boy, hugging him to your side as he averted his gaze from the camera.

Grandma retired the next year, and although she kept that cabin you never went back to Camp Crystal Lake. Yet that photo of you and Jason remained hung on your bedroom wall for years to come, surrounded by photos of each and every one of your friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Describing Jason is a pain, because I wanted to stay true to kid!Jason's original appearance, but I also don't want to lock in a specific version of him as an adult :/ Regardless, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter~


	4. Chapter 4

You don't see the mysterious man the next day, or the day after, or even for the rest of the week. You explore the little town of Crystal Lake. ignoring the whispers and rumours from locals. Grandma lived there long before you were born and long after, and no machete wielding murderer had ever harmed her. No one had ever harmed you, either, during your many visits.

Yet every time you went outside, every time your feet hit the dense earth, you couldn't help but glance toward the trees.

Today was no different. A breeze ruffled your hair, sent a shiver down your spine, and your eyes unconsciously darted toward the woods as you shrugged on a grey hoodie. That creeping feeling settled under your skin, the feeling you weren't as along as you seemed. It had become so commonplace over the last two weeks since moving in, you had almost gotten used to it.

Almost.

Feet padded silent on the hard packed earth as you moved from the safety of your porch. Down the steps, along the little path, through the gate. Since moving into Grandma's cabin, something had been calling you back to Camp Crystal Lake. A need to see it one last time, to reconcile lost childhood memories. It was long abandoned, or so you heard, due to the murders that had transpired. But there hadn't been any fresh murders in _years._

Or, at least, none that had been reported. The thought made you shiver.

Yet you pressed on, hands shoved deep into the hoodie pockets, head low to watch for the uneven ground. The longer you walked, the more oppressive that feeling of _being watched_ became. It crept up on you slowly - a tickle at first, the urge to glance behind you, only to sigh when there was nothing but grass. But as you strode toward the lake, it became _unbearable,_ until your whole body itched with the urge to break into a sprint.

"I know you're there," you called toward the treeline, "you've been following me since I left the cabin, haven't you?"

Nothing. Of course. Why would you assume he was watching you all the time? Sure, it had proven true on more than one occasion, but he had a life too, surely-

A shimmer by the trees. A silhouette, tall and broad and stiff, hovered just out of your line of sight. 

Ah, so you had been right after all. You wonder how many times he had watched you, and you _hadn't_ caught him. You decide you don't want to think about it. "Come on out," you sigh, beckoning him forward, "if you're able to creep on me, you're able to come and say hi."

Slowly, the figure revealed itself. _Of course_ it was him, the hockey-masked man you had only dubbed 'mystery man'. Idly you wondered if he really _was_ the infamous Camp Blood Killer. He looked the part, with his rock hard muscles and dirtied clothes. And who else would feel the need to wear a mask?

He regarded you silently, head tilted as his singular dark eye glimmered in the light. 

"I was going to take a look around the old camp," you tell him, "just for nostalgia's sake. You can come with me, if you like. And you don't need to creep around in the shadows, either." It was bold of you, to invite him to walk with you. It left a lump in your throat, stomach doing a little flip that left you nauseous. 

He simply shrugged. Finally detaching himself fully from the treeline, he sidled up to your side. It was then that you fully realised how _massive_ he was, from his height to those sloping shoulders, but he kept a respectable distance. Allowing to you to move away if you so wished. Despite having been watching you for God knew how long, he was oddly conscientious. It was almost _sweet._

"Well," you muttered, casting him a raised brow, "lead the way. I bet you know the area better."

He hesitated, head tilting down in consideration. Then, without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, he strode off toward camp. His wide, loping steps quickly left you in the dust.

"Hey, wait!" you called - and took off after him.

By the time you caught up with him, he was already slowing his pace. Heaving out a breath you fell into step beside him, and even though you tried to gulp down huge breaths, your lungs complained. 

The walk passed in silence, save for your uneven breathing, and you didn't try to break it. Either he couldn't talk or didn't want to, and the concept of him being deliberately non-verbal didn't escape possibility. So you chose to embrace the silence, eyes wandering the scenery as you walked. The further from your little cabin you moved, the worse state the surrounding area became. Lush grass gave way for tangles of overgrown weeds, and the few other cabins and cottages you came across were all long abandoned. One had a smashed in window, thick vines surrounding where the glass had been. A quick peek inside proved the interior was just as bad, weeds and grass and everything else growing over every surface.

It was oddly beautiful, you thought, seeing nature take over once more. Back in the day this place had been beautiful too, but too well maintained to look natural. Now, well, it was difficult to imagine this had been a camp for children.

The first signs of the camp itself swam into view only minutes later. Mouldy, broken picnic benches littered the ground, as did the contents of someone's backpack. It had been there a long time by the looks of it - but who just left their stuff like that?

"Someone left in a hurry," you muttered, nudging the backpack with your toes as you moved past. Beside you, mystery man stiffened, and your eyes flickered up to his. "Something wrong?"

A head shake. _No._ But his pace quickened, and as you hurried after him you caught a flash of rusty, long dried blood clinging to the corner of the picnic bench.

You passed the counsellor's cabin in silence, and you didn't stop to glance inside. You had never needed to go in there as a kid, so why bother now? No, you were looking for _your_ old cabin, but with everything overgrown and your memories fuzzy, it was difficult to remember which one was yours.

"You live nearby, right?" you questioned idly, stepping over a broken lawn chair, "did you ever go to this camp? I can't tell _how_ old you are with that weird mask..."

A grunt - which was the closest to words you had heard him utter so far. You blinked, wondering if you were hearing things, but he didn't say anything more. 

"Well, I only went for one year, when I was ten or so. The place was nice, but some of the counsellor's were a piece of work. Even a kid as dense as me knew they didn't want to be there." You huffed, kicking a loose pebble until it skittered across the grass. "But my Grandma lived in the cabin I'm in now, so I visited every summer. I liked Grandma's a lot more than the camp, I'll be honest. But there was this one kid that made the whole time worth it..." you trailed off with a shrug. "I found out the next year that he died."

He doesn't reply, not that you expect him to, and you continue on in silence. The silence is nice, actually. Peaceful. The city where you used to live was always noisy and crowded, you couldn't step outside your house without bumping into someone that insisted on stopping to chat. You found yourself enjoying the quietness of his company, however strange that company was.

Eventually you stumbled upon a small cabin, further back than the rest. It overlooked the glittering lake, but the windows were dark with grime. Still it made you smile as you carefully stepped onto the decaying porch. "This is the cabin I stayed at," you speak - though to the man or yourself you're not sure. "There were five others, I think?"

He said nothing, but the shadow crawling along the wall told you he was right there. Hovering behind you. Did he have no concept of personal space?

Shoving the unease to the back of your mind, you pushed open the cabin door and inched inside. Immediately you were hit with the stench of damp, and dust plumed around you as your feet kicked up decades' worth of debris. With a hand covering your nose and mouth, you kicked aside a pile of wood and pushed further in.

Your bunk - or, the bunk you had used at camp - was the furthest from the door. Top bunk, left hand side, where it had been quiet enough to avoid the chatter of the other kids, and the kid that slept below you had always been asleep by nine.

The man hovered behind you, and you _felt_ the tension radiating from his body. Lurking by the door, staring at you with hollow eyes, he really did look like a ghost. 

With one eye still on him, you wandered to your old bed. But something caught your eye, tucked beneath the bottom bunk. Dusty and faded, at first you thought it was a book - but as you knelt, you saw the glimmer of a photograph peeking from between the pages.

A photo album?

Debris scattered as you pulled it from underneath the bed. There was a musty, dead sort of smell from the corner of the room and you saw a clump of dark fur shift as the photo album nudged it. Cringing, you shuffled away to perch on the opposite bed. The photo album fell open when you dropped it onto your knee - and more dust flourished. 

The man jumped as coughs erupted from your throat, but instead of rushing to help like he seemed to want, he stayed rooted to the spot. Did he hate it here _that_ much?

Your eyes lingered on his shadowed form for one brief moment, before dipping back to the album. A short, stocky girl gazed back at you. She was no older than twelve, with gaudy pink braces and a matching purple t-shirt. You had known her at Camp, although not by name. You thought she was a regular.

Turning the page revealed a group photo. Young teenagers stood at the back, smaller children at the front. The year was etched into the top corner. Flicking to the next page revealed the following year; many of the kids were the same, but there were a few new faces too. As you flipped through the album it proved much the same; each year the same girl stood in the same position, nestled amongst kids old and new.

Until you reached the end. The last photo looked the same as the others. The girl was a few years older, too old to be at Camp really. But that wasn't what caught your eye.

It was your own face grinning back at the camera, arms looped around the shoulders of a tall, nervous looking boy. Even from the depths of a grainy photograph you could see the vibrancy of his unevenly set eyes, the embarrassment on his disfigured face.

_Jason._

"Here he is," you murmured, fingers tracing over the photograph, "the kid I told you about. Jason... Voorhees, I think? Sweet kid. Shy, too." You frowned, and your heart skipped. "Grandma told me he drowned. What a terrible way to go..." You let your gaze trail over the photograph one last time, as if you could somehow embed the image in your mind forever. Then, with a grimace, you snapped the album shut.

When you stood, turning to the door, the man was frozen solid. His eyes, barely visible in the low light, were fixed on you. Behind the mask his expression was a mystery, but you saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed thickly.

_A kid drowned there decades ago. He died, but his spirit still lingers. All grown up and looking for blood._

You didn't know _why_ the old lady's warning invaded your brain, at first. It shot into your mind without consent, and your blood ran cold. Your eyes darted up, squinting, as another thought came to mind. 

_I found out a year later that he died._

Jason Voorhees died the year after your one-time camp experience. He drowned, pushed into the water by selfish bullies that didn't care he couldn't swim. He _died,_ and then his mother was murdered, and now Camp Crystal Lake lay abandoned.

It was crazy. _Impossible._ Beyond reason. Yet...

"Jason?" you breathed, and it was barely a whisper. When had your hands started shaking? 

He flinched, eyes darting to your own before falling to the ground. One foot shifted to another, hands twisting around each other. 

He didn't confirm it. Neither did he deny it. 

The rotted wood groaned under your feet as you inched forward. Hands twitched by your side, itching to reach out - yet you couldn't. 

How could this be him? The boy you had met all those years ago, was dead. Yet somehow you knew, knew this was him. All grown up, his mother gone... had he been alone this entire time?

You're head was pounding, pulse rushing in you ears as a hiccuping gasp left your lips. "Jason," you repeated, and your voice echoed throughout the silent cabin, "it's you isn't it?" 

He didn't speak. Didn't _move,_ save the tiny inclination of his head that could have been a nod, or could have been an attempt to swat away stray dust.

"I... you _died,_ " you continued, and with each new step the ancient, rotting floor creaked beneath your feet. "How can a kid _die_ and then come back, and still grow up and live in the woods for twenty years unnoticed?"

_Not entirely unnoticed,_ a small voice in your head reminded, _the rumours about a murderer had to start somewhere._

You shoved those thoughts deep down, locked them away in a part of your mind to remained untouched. Maybe he was a ghost, or a murderer, or a murderer-ghost - but he was also _Jason,_ your friend, and it didn't matter if two decades had passed.

You took another lurching step forward, and your mind buzzed like angry bees. Without thinking you stretched out a hand, fighting back the onslaught of questions whirring in your uncooperative brain.

The man - no, _Jason -_ stumbled back, foot catching on the warped wooden floor. Beneath the mask his eyes widened, staring at your hand as if it was the last thing on earth he wanted to see. 

"Do... do you remember me?" you questioned, and your voice was so small it was lost almost even to _you._ Slowly. your hand dropped back to your side. It would have been fair, if he didn't remember you. After all, it had been one summer all those years ago, and there was plenty of reason for him to want to forget. Even so, something heavy settled in the pit of your stomach.

Yet he nodded - and when he did, relief sparked in your chest, and from the way the corners of his eyes creased he was smiling too. His gaze flickered between you and the ground; as if he couldn't bare to look at you and yet couldn't look away, either. 

You had a million questions to ask. How was he alive? Why the mask? What happened to his mother? _Why_ were the locals so insistent he was some angry ghost out for revenge?

Instead you asked, "is that why you've been stalking me?"

A shrug. A nod. It wasn't much, but it was _enough._

Your eyes locked with his. One a rich, dark blue like the ocean - the other pale, milky white. In that moment nothing mattered except _him,_ and you could have stared at him for hours with no concept of the passing of time. You opened your arms, a smile gracing your features, and beckoned him forward.

Jason didn't accept your invitation of a hug, and for a moment your heart sank. But then he shuffled forward, feet crunching over two decades of debris, and put one enormous hand on your shoulder. At first you were struck by how _enormous_ he was, a far cry from the tall but scrawny boy you remembered. 

But then you realised he was _touching_ you, and it didn't matter that his skin was unnaturally hot or that his hands were thick with grime, or that he had been stalking you for the last week. All you cared about was that this mysterious man, who had been such an enigma since your arrival, was not only a mystery no more but a part of your past. A part of your past you had cared for very much, and had lost many sleepless nights over as a child.

_To hell with it,_ you decided, and hugged him.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun glittered above you, bearing down that awful kind of heat you could never get away from, no matter what. Stripping down to shorts and a tank top hadn't helped, nor had gulping down almost an entire pitcher of lemonade in one sitting. Your Grandma had never bothered to install any air conditioning into her little cabin, being the kind of person that _loved_ hot summer days and felt the cold the rest of the year anyway, so now you were suffering the consequences.

That was how you found yourself outside, laid out on the grass by the lake. Sunburn be damned, you couldn't find any relief inside and at least out here there was a breeze. The sun bore down on you, but the breeze ruffled your hair and brought goosebumps to your skin. 

It had been maybe an hour, and in that hour you hadn't seen any sign of Jason. Strange; you usually caught him from the corner of your eye whenever you went outside, even just for a minute. It was like he _wanted_ to be seen, except since that day at the old camp he hadn't so much as stepped out of the trees to say hello. 

Absently, your eyes drifted back to the woods. No Jason, not even a shadow. You had barely ever seen him in the first place, save a few scattered meetings before _that day,_ but his absence left you with a knot in your stomach that refused to go away. You stared out across the treeline one last time, letting out a little huff, and shuffled onto your knees. Maybe a dip in the lake would do you good; the cool water against your skin, some brief respite from this _damn_ sun...

Your feet broke the surface of the water - it was _freezing,_ sending a chill down your spine but a smile to your face. Within moments you were lowering yourself into the icy water, enjoying how it soothed your too-hot skin.

No sooner had the water crept up to your hips when you heard noise. _A lot_ of noise. It was as if the entirety of the local wildlife had decided to come crashing toward you, careening past the trees with no care for who or what saw. Your eyes snapped wide, head spinning, to see - Jason running toward you?

"Jason, what are you-"

No time to finish. Enormous arms wrapped around you, effortlessly scooping you away from the dark depths of the lake. You let out a squeak, clinging to his neck as your chest shuddered - and he unceremoniously dropped you onto the dry grass.

"Jason, what the hell? I was just - _oh._ " 

His face was forever shielded by that dirty hockey mask, but you could still see his _eyes._ And those eyes, usually so calm, were wide with fear. Thick brows pinched, his one stormy-blue eye staring right at you. He _never_ made eye contact. His chest heaved too, as if he had ran a marathon instead of simply crashing through the trees to bundle you into his arms.

Yet now the two of you were sitting down, he had scooted away. _Really_ far away, hands held stiffly by his side as if he was afraid to get any closer. As if he had realised his mistake. The mistake of simply _touching_ you.

"Jason," you sighed, brushing wild hair back from your face to see him better, "it's all right, you know. I was only going for a quick swim." 

His gaze dropped, shoulders hunching. _Of course_ he had panicked, seeing you there. He had drowned for God's sake, right in that very lake. Jason continued to sit there, not quite meeting your gaze yet peeking at you from the corner of his eyes. Like he expected you to disappear if he looked away entirely.

Your heart went out to him, the sting of guilt in your chest letting you know you were _wrong._ Wrong to have assumed he wasn't watching - but also wrong to act like you owned the place. This was Jason's woods, not yours. "I'm sorry," you murmured, "I didn't mean to freak you out. But I can swim really well - I was captain of the swim team in high school."

He simply tilted his head. Questioning. Right, he had never _been_ to high school. Or school at all if Grandma had been right about Pamela's home schooling. 

"It's not important," you admonished with a shrug, a soft sigh rising, "but it means I'm not in any danger of getting hurt." _Or drowning,_ you thought - but the word caught in your throat. It felt _wrong_ to say it, somehow. Like the word itself was taboo. 

The sun continued to beat down overhead, all but frying you alive. Already your damp legs had dried, and your t-shirt was beginning to cling to you in damp, sweaty patches. Nice. 

Yet your discomfort paled in comparison to Jason's; you saw his throat bob as he swallowed, saw him flinch as his gaze wandered to the lake. His breath left his chest in rapid huffs, hands clenching and unclenching like they were cramping up in his panic.

"Jason," you murmured. It still felt weird to call him that - even weirder to remember that he was the _same_ Jason you had known all those years ago. For a moment you frowned, hesitating before continuing with, "I know you've had an awful experience with the water. The _worst_ experience a person can have. But..."

Jason's gaze flickered up, but his body remained perfectly still. His eyes caught the sun, dazzling in the beautiful light, and you wished you could see the rest of his face.

Biting your lip, you reached out to lace your fingers through his. You had to scoot forward - and Jason shuffled back, but he didn't try to stop you as your hand reached for his. " _But_ ," you repeated softly, "you don't have to worry about me, okay? I can take care of myself."

That familiar head tilt returned. You didn't know _how_ he wasn't roasting in that mask, and the dark, long sleeved shirt, but he seemed fine. Fine save for the way his body tensed at your words. 

"You've been alone for so long Jason, and you've been through _so much._ The last thing you need is to be worrying about me." You bit down on your lip, staring into his masked face in a vain attempt to decipher what he was feeling. Your hand, hot and admittedly a little sweaty, curled tighter around his. "What I mean is... you've got enough going on without me sending you into a panic attack."

For a man with his entire face covered, Jason was so expressive. You saw the tiny twitch of his brows, the way his eyes darted away as soon as you looked over. His throat tensed, shoulders hunching. 

"I mean it," you responded with a smile, "if anything I should be the one worrying about _you._ " An idea sparked into your mind then - a stupid, impulsive idea. You squeezed Jason's hand, eyes shifting to the water. "You know, being captain of the swim team taught me a lot," you offered, "I could teach you."

Jason's eyes widened, his hands clenched - enough to _hurt_ you, but you didn't try to tug yourself free. He was frozen, staring out across the lake with unblinking eyes. 

Your heart hurt for him, and you blinked back the sudden urge to cry. "I'm sorry, it was a stupid question! What those kids did was _terrible,_ I shouldn't have even brought it up."

All those rumours about him being the Camp Crystal Lake killer had clearly never _met_ him. How could someone so sweet possibly be a murderer?

"Just forget I said anything-"

Jason turned to you, and the intensity of his mismatched gaze silenced you instantly. He was _enormous,_ and even with you both sitting down he towered over you. You saw his shoulders hunch, but it didn't do much to make him look smaller. His head tilted, strawberry blond hair glinting in the sun, and waited.

Oh. He was waiting for _you._ To continue. His gaze left you fidgeting. All this time you had wished he would make eye contact - now you wished he would look away. Or at least _blink._ Sighing, you murmured, "I get that you don't want to go near the water; but maybe knowing you could swim would make you feel safer."

No answer. Obviously. He had never spoken as a child - and after being abandoned in the woods for two decades, his vocal chords were probably too atrophied to speak anyway. 

"I'm just saying that, if you wanted, I could help. I _want_ to help. You deserve to feel safe-"

A huge hand brushed against your shoulder. When you glanced up, Jason's eyes met your own. His confidence only lasted a second however - as soon enough he was pulling away, hand tugging away from your own.

Right. Baby steps, then. You huffed out a breath, trying to stifle the swell of disappointment in your chest. "We can stay where it's shallow. You're so damn _huge_ it'll probably only reach your waist," you offered quietly.

This is how you expected it to go; refusal. Denial. Jason's enormous form stalking off toward the forest without looking back. Instead Jason heaved himself to his feet, his bulk casting a dark shadow across the grass. Then he offered one enormous hand.

A grin crept across your features as you allowed him to pull you up - despite his size he was so _gentle,_ impossibly so, and you barely felt him tug as you hopped to your feet. "So, is this a yes?" you asked hopefully. 

A nod. Barely perceptible. 

"Okay," you breathed, "one step at a time. Walk with me?"

The sun was relentless against your back as you walked - but Jason himself was unnaturally hot. Yet he didn't sweat, showed no signs of nerves save for the steady clenching and unclenching of his fists. When you put a calming hand against his shoulder he seemed to calm, hands relaxing by his sides.

That only lasted as long as it took to reach the lake. Your shoes still sat abandoned by the shallowest part, and you wondered how the cheap plastic soles weren't literally melting. But you had bigger issues than crappy footwear.

Settling by the lakeside, you dipped your feet into the cool water. It was _blissful,_ so cold it stung your swollen ankles, and you wished you could just dunk your entire body beneath the surface. Resisting the urge, you held out a hand to Jason. 

He squinted in the sun. That milky white eye didn't seem to care - was he totally blind? - but the pupil of his ocean blue eye was blown wide. _Not just from the light,_ you realised, _but fear too._

"You're safe, I promise," you uttered. When he took your hand you smiled, gently guiding him to sit beside you. "I've got you," you assured, giving his hand a squeeze before letting your hand drift to pat his shoulder. 

His shoes were a pair of tattered boots, probably scavenged from the camp. _Or,_ you thought, _from someone he's killed._ You didn't let your mind linger on those stupid rumours.

"Dip your hand in," you urged. When Jason didn't move, you reached across to take his hand in yours. He was still so _hot,_ his pulse racing so fast you felt it against your own wrist. Slowly, carefully, you dipped your joined hands into the water.

He looked _petrified._ Body stiff, hand gripping yours so fiercely and _oh,_ you were going to have bruises tomorrow. Yet he didn't pull away, didn't snatch his hand back like you had assumed he would. Instead he sat there, every inch of his body perfectly still.

"I'm going to get into the water, okay?" Your smile was gentle, reassuring, and despite the tension running through Jason's body you felt him relax against you. Untangling your hand from his, you slipped into the cool water of the lake. The sudden cold against your burning skin made you shudder, even more so as your feet hit the rocky, muddy bottom. 

It barely reached your chest, feet planted firmly on the bottom. Further in, Crystal Lake was impossibly deep - but right here, it couldn't have been more than four and a half feet. Jason's shoulders relaxed as you grinned at him - yet the hand that had been occupied by your own clenched into a white-knuckled fist.

"You don't have to come in," you assured kindly, "one step at a time, right?" Perhaps just watching you was enough for today. Or enough _period._ A moment ago he looked stressed enough to pass out, so tense you wouldn't have been surprised if he started hyperventilating. The actual image itself was ridiculous, but still. 

Yes, it would have been nice to swim with Jason. _Fantastic,_ actually, but that wasn't the point. The point was to make him feel safe. And sure enough, he was slowly relaxing. Leaning into the idea that perhaps the lake wasn't the ominous force he had believed.

Reaching out, you curled a damp hand around his own. How weird, that holding hands with this almost-stranger felt so _natural._ Droplets of water splashed against his skin, but he was still burning hot. Even so, it felt so _good._ Like your hand was made for his.

"Come on, I've had enough of this heat," you murmured, "why don't we pick this up another time?" 

He nodded, and despite his hulking body Jason darted to his feet with a mystical kind of grace. One minute he was on the ground, ankles crossed - and in the time it took you to blink he was on his feet.

Clambering from the water took more effort than you liked to admit - your feet slipped on the rocky ground, face flushed with the exertion. Your shorts and tee were soaked - and you reminded yourself _not_ to dunk yourself under while wearing denim ever again. Then a hand reached down, tugging you from the icy water with less effort than it took to pick up a doll.

You held back a shriek, but Jason set you down on the grass so gently it was like he was handling porcelain. Your feet met the dry ground, and you smiled. "Thanks, Jason."

A nod, and maybe one of those rare smiles, if the twitch of his mask was any indication.

You would have offered your arm, you supposed, if you weren't dripping wet. Instead you settled for standing on your toes to press a kiss to his masked cheek. "Come on, let's go inside. I have fresh lemonade, if you want."

Jason didn't reply, but you had learned to enjoy the silence. So, with a grin and a gentle nudge, you led him back to your cabin.

Maybe you could pick this swimming thing back up. But even if you didn't, you counted today as a win.


	6. Chapter 6

You had to admit, watching Jason hover by the edge of the lake, gazing into the depths of the water, was kind of cute. In the few weeks you had been there, you had learned to pick up on a few of his ticks; what he lacked in words, he made up for in the subtle signs of his body. For instance, when he was nervous, Jason's head tilted in such a way he almost looked like a lost puppy. He was doing that right now. Probably scowling beneath the mask too.

He had been staring for almost twenty minutes, unaware of you're presence. It was strange, being the one watching instead of the one _being watched._

"Jason," you called, stepping away from the thick covering of trees and toward his lonely silhouette. No response. You took another step closer, hand outstretched, and tried again. "Jason, hon?"

When your hand touched his shoulder Jason flinched, tearing away from you as if it burned. You stumbled back with an exclamation caught in your throat; only for Jason to let out an apologetic whine.

"Sorry," you muttered, letting your hand drop to your side. You didn't let it get the better of you, honest, but when he cringed from your touch it was difficult not to feel like he was cringing away from _you._ Nose crinkling, you asked, "are you all right?"

His head dipped, and you imagined his face twisting into a grimace.

"Thinking?" you surmised, "or... remembering?"

A nod confirmed your suspicions. It was impossible to know what went through his mind sometimes, but it was obvious _something_ was up. Something you didn't know you could offer help with. Was it the lake? Remembering his past, what had happened to him all those years ago?

As you stepped up beside him, you cast your gaze across the glittering lake. It was beautiful in the mid-evening sun. Clear and blue and still. "Something tells me you're not remembering good things," you sighed, "but sometimes remembering can be cathartic too."

Sometimes Jason was impassive, his thoughts as much a mystery as the rest of him. Now, however, the harsh slump of hunched shoulders and muffled little sigh gave him away.

It sparked a bolt of sympathy in your chest. "It's all right," you murmured, "to feel bad, I mean. If anyone has the right to feel like shit sometimes, it's you. But if this is about the swimming lessons I suggested then forget I-"

Suddenly there were two thick arms around you - easily encircling your entire torso. His masked forehead bumped against your own, and although you couldn't feel his breath you heard the soft intake of breath as you touched.

Was he... trying to reassure you?

A laugh bubbled in your throat - but if Jason heard, he didn't respond. For a moment the two of you just stood there, faces pressed so close you could have _kissed_ him if you had taken a notion. Not that you had, obviously, because that would have been crazy. But...

"I just can't figure you out," you whispered against his mask, "one second you're flinching from me like I'm poisonous. Next thing I know you're cuddling up to me?" 

Jason huffed, and this time you _did_ feel his warm breath flutter against your skin. It was oddly cute. Honestly, so was everything about him. You were _so close,_ you could have cupped his face in your hands, could have leaned in close and tucked your fingers beneath the mask to raise it up...

No, you were not going there. Not _at all._

You blinked, snapping back to attention as a breeze drifted past. You shivered, but Jason's warmth kept away the chill. You glanced up, saw his pale gaze looking down at you. You smiled as you stepped away - but your fingers remained curled around his. "Come on big guy, standing out here reminiscing won't do you any good. Let's go inside."

You tried to tug Jason along, hand clasped in his, but his towering frame was so _strong,_ it was like trying to tow a statue. "Jason?" you questioned, eyes drifting up to his. Frowning, you touched his shoulder. "You want to stay outside?"

He shook his head, and this was one of those moments where you had no idea what he wanted you to do. You were about to ask, brow furrowing in the beginning twitches of annoyance - but suddenly he spun, heels digging into the dirt, and began striding across the grass.

With your hand trapped, you had no choice but to struggle along after him. "Jason!" you hollered, your much shorter legs struggling to keep up with his strides. He wasn't towing you toward your cabin, you noticed, but instead following the curve of the lake and toward the abandoned camp grounds.

It wasn't until you started lagging behind, feet scuffing the grass, that Jason slowed. You fell into step beside him, and when Jason's pale gaze fluttered down you saw him give an apologetic shrug.

"You gonna tell me what's up?" you asked quietly, "because I'm lost."

Surprisingly, Jason had never seemed bothered about the troubles of communicating. You still weren't sure if his lack of speech was physical or psychological - and you had never heard him talk when you were kids, either - but he had always been content to let you do the talking. Now, however, as you traipsed ever closer to the camp, he was beginning to fidget. His only free hand gestured toward the camp, a growl of frustration leaving his lips.

Frowning, you glanced up at him. "You want to go to the old camp," you surmised. That was easy enough. "Is there... something you want?"

He shook his head, strands of thin strawberry blond hair sticking to his mask. There was no attempt to fix it. His fists clenched reflexively - and, with a jolt of discomfort you remember you were still _holding_ one of those hands. His wild gestures were erratic, doing absolutely nothing to help you understand, until he pointed to _you._

"Oh!" Realisation hit you, and you let out a breath. "There's something you want to show me?" What could there be in a decades-abandoned camp that you needed to see? It was just dirty cabins and debris and overgrown vines. "Is it something important?" you asked lamely, knowing there was no way for him to answer.

Jason nodded, his shoulders relaxing. He glanced down at your hand, and for a moment you thought he wanted to take it again - but he only gave you a tiny nod and quickened his pace.

You had never cursed your height, but you were beginning to wish you had an extra few inches on your frame.

Birds chirped overhead as you delved deeper into camp. Their little yellow bodies stuck out against the clear sky, perched on low branches. Goldfinches, you thought, but you only knew that thanks to Grandma's old bird watching books. They brightened up the dreary camp, and you smiled.

You had expected Jason to duck into one of the old cabins, perhaps the one you had stayed in during your one year here. Or perhaps the main cabin, where most of the activities were held. Instead he strode past each one with indifference, weaving past broken park benches and old rubble with practised ease. 

You could have stopped him, demanded to know where he was going, but something about the determination in his stride, the quiet eagerness that verged on desperation, kept you quiet. You didn't speak, hardly even breathed, until Jason jolted to a standstill. 

A house. You stood outside a house - a little two-storey cabin like your own, but this one was in much poorer condition. The door was cracked, likely not even usable anymore. The porch wasn't much more than rotting mulch. You thought there was a flicker of light from inside, but no way could it still have electricity.

"Jason," you huffed, "I don't understand. Why are we here?"

Never could you have imagined Jason _shushing you,_ but he did just then. Waving a hand, eyes narrowed beneath the mask, he silenced you instantly. There was something different about him, a jitter to his movements you had never seen before. It made you realise how little you knew him, how unpredictable even seemingly simple men like him could be.

"There's something in that house, isn't there?" you asked quietly, "is that... where you used to live with Pamela?"

At the mention of his mother, Jason flinched. You felt as if saying her name was _wrong_ somehow, like you didn't have the right to mention her. But then Jason nodded, every so slowly, and gestured for you to go inside.

You had often wondered what happened to Pamela after Jason 'died'. Did she know that her son survived, know he was living in the woods? Was she still here, with him? As you stepped into the darkness of the ruined house, you had the absurd feeling that you were about to find out.

It wasn't entirely clear if that was something you wanted.

The door closed with a soft _click,_ and darkness swallowed you. Although the sun shone outside, it didn't reach the depths of the house - you realised with a jerk of unease that the windows were barred with thick wooden planks. 

You hadn't thought about the Camp Crystal Lake rumours in what felt like forever, but your mind betrayed you. When Jason stepped up behind you, his silhouette was somehow even blacker than the encroaching darkness. Warmth radiated from him, red-hot even through the many layers of clothing. When he reached out a hand, all you thought was _if he wanted to kill anyone, this would be a good place to lure them._

Then his hand, big and warm and _soft,_ settled against your shoulder. You blinked, wrenched back to reality with enough force you actually _gasped._

Far above you, Jason let out an apologetic whine.

"Sorry big guy," you muttered, "it's just... nothing. It's nothing." You tried not to think about how warm he was, how broad and strong and _powerful._ You also tried not to think about how easily he could kill you.

You failed on both counts.

"So," you asked, just to have something to distract yourself from those dark thoughts. Dark thoughts you hadn't thought since you had first arrived at Crystal Lake. "What did you want to show me?"

Pale eyes regarded you dully through the holes of his mask. The windows were caked in grime, the cabin so dark you couldn't hope to see anything beyond the dirty room you stood in, but Jason's eyes flickered to something unseen in another room.

When you followed his gaze you saw the flutter of warm yellow light. Realisation settled in your chest; there was no electricity, of course. The gentle light filtering through the next room came from candles. It was the only light source in the whole cabin.

With one last lingering look toward you, Jason crept forward. Every step should have sent the old floorboards creaking, but he was eerily silent. There was caution to every step as he beckoned you into that odd candlelit room. 

Seconds later you saw why. Jason's enormous frame blocked your view for a moment but when he stepped away, head hung low, you saw it.

Rather, saw _her._

Jason knelt by the shrivelled, mummified head of who could only have been Pamela Voorhees. His mother. Head bowed, he curled a gentle hand into what remained of her straw-like hair. There was a reverence there like you had never seen before, as if his head was bowed in prayer. 

The sight left you speechless, and tears spring to the corner of your eyes. Your heart _hurt_ for him, tension coiling in your gut as you watched him caress his mother's dead flesh with such softness. You didn't belong here, didn't deserve to see him so _vulnerable._

But one question stuck in your mind as you hovered by the door; what happened to Pamela?

Jason touched his masked forehead against his mother's, and you couldn't look any longer. Yet when you pushed yourself from the door, head cast low, the rotten floorboards creaked beneath your feet. Careless.

Yet instead of chasing you away, he reached out a hand and beckoned you closer. Although his milky white eye was as blank as ever, his gaze was so soft. Silently asking you to understand. 

And you did. Jason wanted to show you his mother. Wanted you to meet her. It was the ultimate show of trust, and your heart warmed for him. Wordlessly, you took his hand and settled down beside him. The tile floor was freezing even through your jeans, but Jason's gaze was warm.

Jason didn't speak. That much had been established from the beginning- but when he brushed a hand across Pamela's withered cheek you were struck with the idea that that he was somehow talking to her. And he wanted you to do the same. Those striking eyes landed on you, bored into you, as he waited.

Mumbling out a, "hello Mrs Voorhees," your voice quavered. 

Hollow eye sockets stared at you, her withered skin pulled too taught against long dead bones. Wisps of white hair clung to her skull, illuminated and too bright as candles flickered.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reached put to brush a strand of straggly hair behind her ear. Beside you Jason hummed in approval. "Your son had turned into quite the man, hasn't he?" you murmured, "you must be proud of him."

Jason's hand squeezed yours and you felt such a rush of affection that had you not already been kneeling, you might have collapsed. 

Blinking back fresh tears, you sent him a smile. "What happened to her, Jason?" He had revered Pamela as a child. It seemed nothing had changed. It was _creepy_ though, deeply unsettling to see her there on an altar of pillar candles.

People don't keep the severed heads of their parents for no reason.

Jason didn't meet your eyes. With his one free hand he drew a thumb across his neck. Slicing the air.

"Fuck," you mumbled. Heaviness settled in your chest, your stomach rolled. The dawning realisation made you feel sick. "She was... murdered?"

Jason's little nod made your heart hurt for him. Although the room was dark, tears glistened in his pale blue eyes.

"Oh _Jason_..." 

There, sitting in the cramped room with the candle light casting dark shadows across his face, he looked more vulnerable than you had ever seen.

"I'm so sorry, hon," you murmured - and then you were gathering him up in your arms, wrapping around his waist and pulling his head against the crook of your neck. He didn't try to stop you - no, he clung to you like his life depended on it, his thick arms squeezing until the breath was knocked from your lungs. "You've been alone for so long, haven't you?" You're fingers found his hair, curling around the thin strands. 

He seemed to enjoy it, snuggling closer to your touch, and it brought a weak smile to your lips. 

"Well, I'm no replacement for Pamela, but I'm here for you. Okay?" 

He might have nodded, but his masked face was buried so deeply in your shoulder it was impossible to tell. Your shoulder felt damp too, but Jason was silent even as he cried.

"Thank you for showing me this," you whispered against his warm neck, "it must have taken a lot of courage. I'm sure your mother is happy to know you're still looking after her." 

Your words fell flat; you didn't think words existed to explain the way your heart ached for them. For him. You knew he had his secrets, knew the rumours of the Crystal Lake killer came from somewhere - but all you saw was a lonely, isolated man who had lost the one person that loved him.

Maybe not the only one. As you held him close, enveloped arms so gentle despite his immense size, you couldn't ignore the flurry of warmth that lit up your skin like a hot day. 

"Jason," you mumbled, "would you mind if I brought my own candles from the cabin? I'd like to do something for her but I don't know what else there is-"

Before you had the chance to finish, gigantic arms wrapped around your waist, pulled you close. Jason smelled of stale rainwater and sweat, but you found yourself inhaling his scent and burying your head in his neck anyway. His hands gripped your sides, warm and desperate, but he still treated you like fine china.

"I'm sorry she's gone," you muttered against his skin, "I didn't know her well, but I remember how wonderful she was. Even my Grandma liked her, and Grandma didn't even like her own husband."

The muffled, rasping noise that left his lips was half way between a laugh and a sob. Burying his face deeper into your shoulder blade, he clung to you like a lifeline. 

He needed this. You couldn't even _imagine_ how much he needed it. If you were helping, even the tiniest bit, you were happy to let him clutch you for as long as he needed. Wasn't that what friends were for?

_Besides,_ a small part of you piped up, _doesn't this feel good? Wrapped in Jason's arms, soaking up his warmth?_

So perhaps it was for selfish reasons too, but who could blame you? Perhaps, on some level, you needed this as much as he did.

You weren't sure how long he clung to you, how long the two of you sat there by his mother's makeshift shrine. By the time you pulled away the nearest candle had blinked out, wax reduced to a melted lump. You would comfort Jason for as long as he needed; and then you would go to your cabin, grab every candle you owned - even the expensive orange-scented ones you had been saving for Christmas - and light them all in Pamela's memory.

It wasn't much, but as the two of you hauled your aching bones to your feet, you thought you caught the crinkle of a thankful smile in Jason's eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

It was strange to think that the feared Crystal Lake Killer was _in your home._ Or rather, hovering on the porch like a nervous kitten. Seeing him there, head ducked low as he avoided your gaze, you concluded that the locals were absolutely _nuts._ Jason, _your Jason,_ could never hurt a soul.

"Come for a visit?" you cooed. You _liked_ the idea of him coming to visit you, and a little pool of warmth formed in your stomach at the thought of Jason being so eager to see you. Now that you knew where he lived, half way across the Camp, it only made you smile more. "You've come a long way from watching me from the woods, haven't you?"

At your words, as gentle and teasing as they were, Jason let out a deep huff and shuffled further from your door.

"Don't be silly," you urged, "I'm more than happy to see you. I was just about to watch a movie, if you want to join?"

Head tilted, his pale eyes dart inside your house. Like he had only planned up to this point, and not what to do when you _did_ invite him inside. Cute.

"I have a very comfortable sofa, perfect for two, and the softest blanket you'll ever find." You quirked a brow, already knowing you had him hooked. Stepping aside, you gave Jason the perfect view of your cosy little cabin. You had arranged a heap of cushions on the sofa, as well as two fluffy green blankets that looked like grass. You didn't need them exactly, not with the heat of summer, but it was a cool day and you refused to watch a movie _without_ the comfort of a blanket.

Jason's eyes darted into your home. It wasn't much, not really, but his eyes _lit up_ at the sight of the plush sofa and television. Ah, if he hadn't left the camp since he 'died'... did Pamela even have a TV back then? Her own family certainly hadn't.

"Jason," you hummed, reaching out to take his hand in yours. It enveloped you, one hand enormous enough to encompass yours all the way to the wrist. Tugging gently, you said, "come inside. I _want_ you here, and I'm glad you were brave enough to come here on your own. I'm proud of you."

His back straightened, shoulders angling down as he stood over you. The corners of his eyes crinkled adorably, and God it made your heart melt. There was something so _sweet_ about the way he smiled down at you; you could physically _feel_ his nerves melting away. He squeezed your hand and stepped inside your home with a cute little duck of his head.

"Make yourself comfortable," you told him with a gesture toward the sofa. It was small but comfy, well worn from years of snuggling up with Grandma as she read to you in the evenings of your childhood. "I'm going to make tea," you continued, "want anything?"

He shook his head, which you entirely expected, but you still felt a twinge of disappointment. You were curious - and who wouldn't be? - about what that white mask kept hidden. How had he changed, since you had seen him as a kid? You could easily see the downy fluff of sparse hair, his beautiful lopsided eyes, but you wanted to see _more._

A huff alerted you to Jason's movements - and when you snapped from your thoughts he was already sitting, head turned away as if to _hide_ his face from your stare _._ Oh. 

"Sorry, hon," you murmured, "I guess I zoned out for a second. You sure you don't want a drink?"

The nervous little bob of his head made your heart hurt for him, made you want to wrap him in your arms and never let go. "Jason, honey?" you murmured, tossing aside a few cushions to perch beside him. "Hey, look at me a second, please?"

Jason did just that, his one ocean-blue eye flickering up to meet yours. You couldn't see his face, but you felt the apprehension rolling off of him. His skin was so _hot,_ and once again you were left wondering how he wasn't overheating in that dark jacket. 

"I'm sorry I stared at you," you said softly, brushing your knuckles through his hair. It was wiry, a little greasy, but surprisingly soft as you tucked a strand behind his ear.

He made a low, gnarled sound in the back of his throat - a hum of appreciation, maybe? His eyes slipped closed, and you were so close you saw the faded blue of veins along his eyelids.

"I didn't mean to," you continued quietly, "I was just thinking. Thinking about how glad I am you're here. How much I..." the words caught in your throat. You stuttered to a stop, cheeks flushing as you gazed down at him. You'd _never_ seen him so peaceful, and your heart warmed. Oh, wasn't he just _perfect_? 

With his eyes closed in bliss, you could look at him for as long as you pleased. His skin - or what little you could see - was a pale, but had a lovely warm glow. You're gaze travelled down, taking in the thick curve of his neck that melted into broad, muscular shoulders. His shirt, dark khaki green, clung to his thick body in a way that would make _anyone_ drool. And then his _hands,_ as big as your face but oh so gentle on the rare occasions he dared to touch you...

Without thinking you leaned forward, ignoring the awkward angle as you sat side by side on the sofa, and kissed the white plastic that kept his lips hidden.

Jason's eyelids fluttered as you drew back, a gentle sound leaving the back of his throat. He shifted, body turning toward you as he raised a hand to hover by your cheek - but before you could utter a sigh of approval he lurched back, eyes widening as he put as much space between him and yourself as possible. Gripping the arm of the sofa until his knuckles went white, he looked _terrified._

Your chest shuddered, lips parting in a grimace as you looked away. "I'm sorry," you murmured. Your hands wrung around the hem of your shirt, gripping until it _hurt._ "I shouldn't have - I mean, it was wrong to jump you like that." If only you could have disappeared, let the ground open wide and swallow you up. What a stupid move. What had you been thinking? Nothing, which was precisely the problem-

A warm hand enveloped your own, easily encapsulating you all the way to the wrist. A low huff left Jason's lips, his hand tugging yours as if to say _look at me._

So you did. Nervous eyes darted up, a deer caught in the headlights, and you allowed yourself a smile.

He looked more nervous than you, with his eyes downcast and back hunched, as if to make himself smaller. It didn't work. His free hand danced to the white of his mask, touching where you kissed it. The sight made you _melt,_ and he looked so wonderfully awkward and sweet you just wanted to kiss him again and _again._

"You... didn't mind?"

It shouldn't have been possible for him to be any sweeter, but he shook his head with enough enthusiasm you worried his mask might fly off. 

"So why the reaction? You acted like I'd burned you." Frowning, you tried not to let your lip wobble. "I thought... I thought maybe I'd offended you."

One crystal blue eye met yours. His second eye, the bad one, never quite moved right - but it was one of the many things you found endearing. Even _more_ endearing was the way he ducked his head, hand squeezing yours. Then he tapped his mask, where his lips were hidden, and it clicked.

"You want to kiss me. _Properly?"_

A nod, and then Jason turned away. Broad shoulders hunched, one enormous hand scratching at the back of his neck. He looked as if he wanted to run, to disappear just like you had wanted only moments ago. He tapped his mask a second time, still refusing to turn your way, and shook his head.

Ah. You saw the problem. Sweet, wonderful Jason was too shy to kiss you. Was he worried about you seeing his true face? But you had seen it as children, and even back then you had been old enough to admire the uniqueness of his appearance. It had been more than that, a full blown _crush,_ although at the time you had been too young to realise.

He still wasn't looking at you. One hand had found the corner of your favourite green blanket, fingers wearing a hole in it as he fidgeted. The rest of him was stock still - you couldn't even hear his _breath._

"Jason," you murmured, reaching out to brush the blanket from his hand. He flinched, but you let your hand travel up his clothed arm. "You know I won't judge you, don't you? I liked you when I was ten and I lo- I _like_ you now." Oh. _Oh._ That word had been on the tip of your tongue, so close to breaking through without even realising. You pursed your lips to stifle your gasp, wishing your heart would stop thundering against your rib cage.

It was too early for that. _Far_ too early. Maybe it would never be time.

Jason's eyes met yours, so briefly you wondered if you imagined the questioning look he gave you. Your heart skipped, and oh _God_ you hoped he couldn't hear. His chest rose in a slow inhale, eyes wide with wonder. _Wonder,_ over you? It should have been the other way around.

Your free hand, the one not entwined with his, found one thick shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "You're _wonderful,_ Jason, and I kissed you first. Well, kissed your mask," you fumbled, hand curling around his sleeve, "it's not - my point is, I made the first move. I don't want to pressure you into anything, hon, but you know I won't ever judge you for what's underneath the mask."

His thick hand tightened around yours, eyes widening in what you imagined was a smile beneath the mask. As a kid, Jason's smile was one of the things you had liked about him the most - toothy and a little lopsided, it made his whole face brighter. Oh, how you wished you could see it right then.

Without thinking, you let your fingers curl underneath the chin of his mask. Dance across his throat. You smiled softly, reaching up to press another gentle kiss to the white plastic. "Show me when you're ready," you murmured, "and if that's _never..._ well, as much as I'd love to kiss you, your comfort comes first." 

Jason regarded you silently, and the intensity of his gaze was so unlike the shy, demure glances you were used to. He swallowed, a strangled sound leaving his lips as warm breath escaped through the holes of his mask. One slow blink, eyes scrunched shut as he inhaled sharply, and then he was staring at you again.

Like he was trying to figure out if he was dreaming.

Your hand found the back of his neck, travelling over the expanse of his broad shoulders, to tangle your fingers in his thin hair. "Hey," you mumbled, smiling when Jason all but melted into your touch, "I mean it. Whatever you want, I'm okay with it. More than okay - I'm just glad you didn't freak out on me."

Catlike, Jason nuzzled into the hand combing through his hair. He liked it, apparently, and it brought a smile to your lips as he huffed out warm breath that made your skin prickle. 

You could have sat like that _forever,_ hand slowly tracing circles along Jason's skin, sitting so close your thighs almost touched. With every curl of your fingers he sank further into the cushions - and further into _you -_ and it was such a beautiful sight that you almost forgot how to breathe. This was the first time you had seen him truly _relaxed,_ and you never wanted it to end. 

If the delicate little sounds of contentment were anything to go by, Jason felt just the same. He looked half-asleep already; eyes fluttered closed, head lolling into the mound of cushions surrounding you both. 

Pressing a kiss to his masked forehead - and grinning at his cute little huff - you made yourself comfortable. Legs tucked beneath you, you dared to rest your head against his shoulder. Jason, eyes still closed, wrapped an arm around your waist to tug you closer, burying his face into your hair.

This was nice. This was _more_ than nice - it was amazing, and Jason was so soft and _warm,_ and you felt yourself drifting off as he snuggled closer.

* * *

You floated back to consciousness with a yawn, eyes squinting into the fading sunlight peeking through the living room curtains. Wait... living room? With a hand stifling a second yawn you turned, pausing when something warm and solid moved beneath you.

Oh. _Jason._ His arms still wound around you, an unfamiliar yet welcome sensation. His eyes were still closed, breath even as he pulled you closer in his sleep. Oh, he was just so _cute,_ and you couldn't help but peck the sliver of collarbone visible above the neckline of his shirt. He shifted, but didn't wake.

Up close, you had a rare chance to admire him, and your chest stuttered at how _good_ he looked. His mask had shifted in his sleep, revealing a stripe of mottled, uneven skin - you couldn't see his face, but even just seeing that strip of jaw made your stomach squirm excitedly. His skin was tanned from the sun, but you had the impression his natural, yellowish skin tone was much paler. Tracing a finger across the soft grooves of his neck, you smiled as he curled into you. 

You'd never had the chance to study him before now. You couldn't imagine he'd be happy if he knew you were ogling him like this - and you didn't want to betray his trust, _really,_ but he looked so _gorgeous_ when he was asleep. Relaxed. Peaceful, even. Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his exposed collarbone, delighted by how _warm_ he was. 

Jason shifted in his sleep. Just a twitch at first, arm snaking tighter around your waist - but then he turned, tugging you along for the ride, and the two of you went tumbling to the ground. He woke with a start, a gasp muffled against the mask as he caught you just before your face could smack embarrassingly against the hardwood floor.

And there you lay, staring wild-eyed at each other as Jason's heavy breaths filled the room.

This was possibly the closest you had ever been to him, the closest he had ever _let you_ be to him _,_ and you didn’t want it to end. You stared at him with wide eyes, lips parted in a soft _oh_ as you shifted on top of him. Your legs were beginning to go numb from the awkward way they were tossed across his hips. _Straddling him._ You didn’t care.

Your hands inched upward, toying with the neckline of his grey t-shirt. There was a sliver of skin showing, pale in the dim light, between t-shirt and mask. His skin was always so warm, soft despite his living conditions. Slowly your hand travelled up, trailing across his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck. 

_God,_ he was perfect.

Jason watched you through lidded eyes, a sigh escaping his hidden lips. It wasn’t until your exploring hand reached the edge of his mask that he froze up, his own hand snapping up to stop you. Even then, he was so gentle.

“May I?” you whispered.

You expected refusal, of course, but your heart still plummeted as he turned his face away. Jason scrambled to his knees and you slid from him, the floor cold even beneath your jeans.

He stood - and you stood too, eye level barely reaching his broad chest. Jason never spoke - yet he didn’t need to. The tense way in which he held himself, the tilt of his head that made eye contact impossible. It spoke _volumes._

Seeing him so vulnerable, it hurt. Without thinking you reached out a hand, cupping his cheek - Jason flinched, but allowed the contact. “I won’t judge, you know,” you murmured. Then, standing on your toes, you pressed a kiss to his mask. ****

He relaxed then, shoulders slumping as he leaned into your touch.

You smiled, heart swelling with love. Yet you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to kiss him _properly._ “You're amazing,” you murmured against the cold mask, “you know that, don’t you? I know you're afraid to let me see, but it won't change how I feel. Please, let me see you.”

His hand twitched, perhaps to reach out to you, before dropping heavily back to his side. For a moment the two of you just stared, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. Then Jason turned to you, his one visible eye downcast. Large hands made a sweeping motion toward his face, gesturing for you to… close your eyes?

Anxiously, you obeyed. Eyes fluttered close, heart skittering in your chest. You knew what was coming, had longed for it for _so long -_ yet with your deepest desire within grasp you found your pulse quickening. You supposed many people would have built up an image in their mind, would have a - probably inaccurate - mental picture. You never had. Jason was just - well, _Jason._

But as you heard the _click_ of his mask unlatching and the quiet shuffle of nervous feet, your breath hitched.

A tap on your shoulder told you he was ready. You gave him a moment to step back, heart aching to see him, and your eyes fluttered open.

The mask sat on the coffee table in the corner, Jason’s face on full display. Yet even still he tried to hide from you, head tilted away, calloused hands covering the right side of his features. When you stepped forward he scrambled back, a little gasp caught in his throat.

Gentle, _oh so gently,_ you pried his hands from his face. One hand stayed laced with his while the other cupped his cheek, turning him to face you. He simply huffed in response, finally allowing you to see him in full.

The left corer of his lip pulled upward, a deep crevice revealing uneven teeth. Yet it wasn’t his _left_ side that caught your attention but his right, where almost every inch of skin seemed marred. His right eye milked over, either by cataracts or damage you couldn’t tell. When his gaze shifted to you, that milky white eye didn’t move in time with his right. The entire left side of his face was misaligned; blind eye sitting lower than the other, his jaw jutting to one side in a considerable underbite. He didn’t even have an ear; just a mess of overgrown cartilage.

You couldn’t deny he looked even stranger than you remembered. But _God,_ he was gorgeous.

Jason twitched under your gaze, eyes downcast as if _waiting_ for rejection. Yet he didn’t pull away when you reached up to ghost a hand across his cheek. Instead he smiled, twisted lips curving in a way that didn’t seem possible.

Your own lips tugged into a smile as you leaned in close. It was making him uncomfortable - this affection, this _closeness -_ but you couldn’t take your eyes away from him. "Hey handsome."

He was shaking under your gentle touch, shoulders hunching as he wrapped his enormous frame around yours. You thought he might have been holding back tears - but Jason _never_ cried, so you gave him the benefit of pretending not to notice. Instead you looped one arm around his waist, tugging him close to pepper kisses across his face. You started with his neck, giggling as he squirmed under your attention. Before long your attentive touch moved to his jaw, travelling across the expanse of marred skin.

Finally you let your kisses wander to his twisted lips. He flinched at first, tensing up, but as soon as you huffed out a little sigh he _melted._

His lips moved in tandem with your own, skin so _soft_ despite the way it looked. You could have lost yourself in his embrace, soaking up his warmth. You pushed closer, desperate for his touch as you deepened the kiss. His inexperienced showed in his awkward movements, teeth bumping against yours - but it was _perfect._

When you caught his bottom lip between your teeth, Jason _whined._ Such a tiny sound from such an _enormous_ man caught you off guard and you giggled against his mouth - but soon enough his arms were around you. Pulling you closer, desperate to feel you against him.

By the time you broke away, your cheeks were flushed crimson. A laugh escaped you and for a moment you were left _reeling._ Even better was the sight of Jason, grinning so broadly as he held you close. You reached up to brush a hand across the left side of his face, wishing you could stare at him all day.

After a moment he snapped back to reality - and he must have remembered he was still on display because he reached for the hockey mask still lying on the coffee table, movements flustered. There was panic in his eyes - panic that only dimmed when you caught his hand in yours.

“You don’t need that around me,” you assured gently, “I won’t stop you, but do you think you could keep it off? Just for a while?”

His hesitance was clear, brows furrowed - but then he nodded, the mask dropping back onto the table with a dull _thud._

“Perfect,” you murmured, reaching up for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is cannibalised from my oneshot, but it was just so cute?? So I reused it :)
> 
> Edit: this was supposed to have way more chapters, but I feel like this is as good as any place to leave it?


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